Oceanography and Paternal Studies
by AnthroQueen
Summary: Yeah. They're over. Or maybe they never began, and that was really the problem in the first place.


Oceanography and Paternal Studies

"I'm so jealous of you, Britta," Annie sighs, folding a tank top and adding it to the pile. "You get to do something productive with your vacation rather than eat sixty pounds of food and then feel guilty about it, later."

Britta grins. "Yeah, I'm very excited. I haven't done anything productive in awhile. Plus the fact that it's a _beach_ clean-up is an added bonus. I can't tell you the last time I went to a beach."

"I think… I was eight?" Annie thinks for a moment before giving in. "And it's in San Diego? Isn't that like… twelve hours away?"

"Sixteen, actually." Britta corrects her, adding a few t-shirts to sleep in to her suitcase. "Not too bad, though. I'm going to stop overnight in Vegas. That's why I'm leaving tomorrow morning. The program starts on Monday."

"Sixteen hours?" Annie repeats in incredulity. "You should've flown in."

"Hell no! I just got a new car!" Britta refutes. "I've been waiting to break that baby in since I drove it off the lot!"

Annie giggles. "Well a sixteen-hour drive will definitely do that for you."

"Exactly," Britta agrees, adding some underwear and bras before zipping up the suitcase and tossing it carelessly off her bed. "Well, I think that's everything. Thanks for helping me pack. I suck at this sort of thing."

"No problem! I'm living vicariously through you," Annie smiles. "I wish I was going away for Thanksgiving…"

Britta glances out at her car. "Well, do you want to come with me? There's plenty of room; plus it would be nice to have the company."

"Actually, Troy and Abed and I are going to the movie festival this weekend in Denver," Annie tells her gleefully. "It'll be our first official roommate activity! Plus, Shirley already invited us for Thanksgiving dinner and… Well we can't say no to that, right?"

"Not usually, but I'm sure Jeff will find a way out of it."

Annie cocks her head to the side. "Actually, I haven't heard from him at all today. He said he had a meeting this morning, but that should've ended hours ago…"

"Well, you know Jeff," Britta smirks. "He doesn't like getting involved in anyone else's lives and thinks it's unnecessary for us to get involved in his."

"Yeah," Annie says uneasily. "Well, I should go."

There's a sort of awkwardness in the air, as there always is when Jeff is the topic of conversation between Britta and Annie. It's hard talking about someone whom you both have feelings for, whom you've both kissed, and to whom you've both admitted your love. Britta tries to ignore this as she walks Annie to the door of her apartment, but it's hard not to admit the awkward feeling and maybe, just _maybe_, there's a little jealousy there, too. She and Jeff will always have a connection; she knows this. But Jeff and Annie… They just make _sense_.

"I just wanted to say," Annie says, turning and flashing Britta a huge grin. "I've missed being your friend. I'm so glad we've put the past behind us and are done competing over Jeff."

_Yeah_, Britta thinks, and purses her lips together so she doesn't say the words aloud. _Of course you're glad. You won_.

Instead, she says, "Thanks, Annie. Me too."

They hug and Annie wishes her a good trip. "Have fun and drive safely! I've got to get home- today I'm teaching Troy and Abed how to fold blankets so they don't wrinkle!"

"Sounds exciting," Britta chuckles. "I'll see you after the break."

With Annie gone, Britta's left alone with her thoughts and her cats, who are currently sleeping on top of one another on her kitchen table, no matter how many times she pushes them off. She pushes them off again, which earns her a horrible glare (or as much of a glare two one-eyed cats can give someone) but she returns their looks and decides to give her apartment a full cleaning, something she hasn't done since… Well, probably since she moved in. It's just such a _mess_. Maybe _she_ should've asked Annie to move in. She definitely could use Annie's OCD; Britta's not really up to date on the politics of cleanliness.

Once the dishwasher is running, the tables and counters are cleared of debris and leftovers, and she's swept the floor, Britta moves on to the living room, which is the least of her worries, because when she's not sleeping or eating, she's at Greendale. This, now that Britta thinks of it, is pretty upsetting. But she vacuums, puts away stray magazines, and straightens her couch cushions anyway, really not looking forward to tackling the destruction zone that is her bedroom. There's a reason Jeff always made fun of her for her lack of organizational skills.

Jeff. Why do all of her thoughts seem to always retreat back to Jeff? It's beyond frustrating because, yeah, they're over. Or maybe they never began and that was really the problem in the first place. They skipped right over the beginnings of a relationship and jumped right into the sex, the waking up in each other's beds, the weekends spent wearing barely anything, ordering in food, and staying up all night talking (read: making out). They were always all or nothing, never in between, and so maybe that's why they crashed and burned. Too intense, too soon.

Ugh, _relationships_. What-the-fuck-ever.

She pulls a frozen pizza out of the freezer, tears off the plastic wrap, and stuffs it into the oven. It's nearing seven-thirty, which is odd because Annie left around four- had it really taken her three and a half _hours_ to clean her entire apartment? Britta turns on the television, flips to Comedy Central and groans at the sight of a rerun of _Tosh.0_. She finds herself eating her recently-cooked pizza and watching the ridiculous show anyway, because she doesn't really have many other options. Her dinner options are limited anyway, because she tried as hard as she could to use up her groceries so she wouldn't return from California to spoiled food. And as for the TV? There was no one to argue with about what channel to watch, so she keeps it on in the background, not really paying attention anyway.

Around a half hour later, Britta's on the phone with her next-door neighbor, giving her all the necessary cat-care information for the week she'd be gone, there is a beep across the line, signifying a call on her other line. When she pulls the phone away, she's shocked beyond belief to see Jeff's name scroll across the screen. So shocked, in fact, that stares at his name for a good few minutes before her neighbor calls her name, tinny and far away, from the receiver.

"I-I'm sorry," Britta tells her. "I'm going to have to call you back."

She clicks over and waits a moment before she says, "Jeff?"

"_Are you home right now?_"

His voice is rushed and urgent and Britta's not sure how to read it. Shouldn't her eight weeks of psychology courses have helped by now? "Yeah, why? What's wrong?"

"_I'm coming over_."

The line goes dead and Britta stares at her phone a while longer before replacing it. She's beyond confused and things don't become any clearer when he arrives and she buzzes him in, opening the door before he has the chance to knock. He barely greets her, crossing over the threshold into the living room and pacing, immediately pacing. The therapist-to-be in Britta is drawn in by his stature- pacing, shaking, visible irritability. Edginess, agitation. She crosses the room and places a hand on his arm, removing it when he jumps at her touch. Startles easily.

All signs of emotional or psychological trauma.

"Jeff, you okay?" She asks him and he looks at her for a moment before looking away and sinking into her couch. "You're acting really weird."

He still says nothing, so Britta tries another approach. There's more than one way to get Jeff Winger to talk. Retreating to the kitchen, Britta retrieves some scotch and a few shot glasses, placing these in front of him on the coffee table and wordlessly filling each one. He shoots her a grateful look before downing three of them. Britta sits back against the couch triumphantly. Would Annie have thought of this? Of course not. She'd continue to push him until he broke down. But not Britta. If there's anything she's learned so far in psychology, it's that the patient will speak when he's ready.

And he does.

"I found…" Jeff trails off, downing another shot. "…my father."

Britta's eyes widen and she pushes past whatever comment she has about psychological father issues or the oedipal complex. "That's who your meeting was with today… How did it go?"

"Insulting… Showed up hours late… Almost left… Just goes to show… Disappointing… I didn't get a chance…"

He's not making any sense. Jeff is throwing back shots as if they're water, now, and acting as if he's already drunk, even though Britta knows it takes much more than a few shots to get him at that limit. When he's distracted, Britta inches the bottle of scotch away from him and says, "I'm sorry, what? You aren't saying anything of substance."

He gives her a look. "Well I'm sorry my rambling isn't akin to your level of psychological merit."

"Jeff you're not even using real sentences," Britta shakes her head. "Your rambling isn't 'akin' to _anyone's_ merit."

Ironically, he grins at her, and places the empty shot glass back on the table. "Thanks Britta. I knew coming to you was the right decision."

She stares at him. "Are you being sarcastic, or…?"

"No," Jeff tells her honestly. "I didn't want pity. Everyone else would've given me advice and bullshit. You might pretend to psychoanalyze me, but…"

He trails off and Britta smiles slowly, realizing he's probably the first person she'd go to with a problem, too. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," He repeats, motioning for her to give him the liquor back. She doesn't. "I just want to forget it ever happened."

Britta nods and doesn't say anything more. Jeff nods towards her suitcase by the door. "I'm sorry; did I crash your clean get-away?"

"No, I'm actually leaving for San Diego in the morning," Britta informs him and to his amused look, she explains, "There's this huge beach thing going on for the Marine Conservation Society. It's like a beach cleanup, wildlife conservation projects, and all this other stuff. If anything, it's an all-expenses-paid beach vacation, besides the good opportunity."

Jeff sighs. "Sounds good right about now."

Inspired, Britta says, "Hey, you should come with me."

He stares at her with his best 'Britta, are you fucking serious?' look, but she elaborates. "No, I'm serious. You'll get out of Greendale for a week, you'll escape Shirley's Thanksgiving, and… you'll have some time to clear your head."

He continues to stare for awhile, considering. "It actually doesn't sound half bad."

"It wouldn't be! No pressure! Nothing but sand, sea, and sun," She grins. "And the pride of a job well done, because you'll be helping animals in need and saving beach-goers from a horrible fate."

Jeff pulls a face. "Joy. Can I stand spending an entire week trapped on a beach with you, though?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "We spent all of Thanksgiving break together last year. What's the difference?"

"We spent all of Thanksgiving break last year _in bed_," Jeff points out. "That's the difference."

"Listen, this is a friend helping out a friend," Britta states, despite the obvious smirk on his face. "There will be no sex."

"Good." Jeff agrees. "Because we're mature adults. Not teenagers who use each other for sex."

"Exactly." Britta nods. "We've changed."

"Yes," Jeff affirms. "We've evolved."

Except, that? Is a complete and total lie and they _both_ know it.

* * *

><p>Britta wakes up at five-thirty the next morning to a text from Jeff saying he's already waiting outside. She hadn't even dressed or packed her last-minute items yet, but she says she's on her way down anyway. She does these things quicker than she's ever done them before and yanks her suitcase down the hallway, the stairs, and the sidewalk. They have a half-hearted argument over whose car to take (Britta wants to break in her new car, Jeff's has a built-in GPS) before Jeff eventually gives in to a victorious Britta, who deems Jeff her co-pilot and they're off.<p>

Jeff decides as they're passing through the Colorado-Utah border that her car's name is Roxanne, appropriately.

They play ridiculous car games (the license plate game, the out-of-state license plate game, the numbers-in-license plate game… what else are they supposed to look at, seriously?) and have their typical banter. Jeff's much more himself than he was the night before and though Britta's grateful for things returning to normal between them, she wishes she knew just _exactly_ what happened between him and his father. She isn't going to push anything with him, though. She'll wait it out, because she knows the way Jeff is.

They switch drivers halfway through and decide to stop for the night in Las Vegas. It's nearing five-thirty p.m., nearly eleven hours since they started their journey, and it's definitely time for a break. They check into the Circus Circus Hotel and Casino and debate shortly over whether or not to get two rooms (it's irrelevant; they get one room anyway). Dinner is overpriced and undercooked, so they go to the casino without any real knowledge of how to play the games. Jeff turns out to be a natural at Black Jack, while Britta's content just to yank the handles on the slot machines.

They drink- of course- and play ridiculous games until they collapse onto their springy mattress, uncomfortable, and forgetting they have to get up early again the next morning so they can finish their journey. Eight a.m. comes much too quickly and, disoriented, they scramble out of bed and back into newly-dubbed "Roxanne." They pass the "Welcome to California!" sign and switch drivers because Jeff's afraid Britta will fall asleep at the wheel, even though she tells him (through a yawn) she's fine. They make it to San Diego a little after one p.m. and pull into the cottages at Crystal Pier a half hour later.

They're exhausted. The moment Britta checks in with the site director (who greets Jeff with a very intense handshake, telling him she could use all the "handy helpers" she could get), they walk into their cottage and collapse on the bed. There are two bedrooms- two separate beds- and yet they don't even consider separating. They're staring at the melodious rhythm of the oscillating ceiling fan, enjoying the breeze and the sound of the sea lapping at the shore outside. Jeff nudges Britta, who doesn't turn to look at him and merely groans in response.

"Think Roxanne is broken in now?"

"If she's not, I don't know what will break her in," Britta responds. "I'm exhausted."

"Should've taken a plane," Jeff suggests. "Why _did_ we drive, Miss Eco-Friendly?"

"Roxanne," Britta breathes and Jeff laughs.

"You don't have to put on the red light" is his response.

It makes Britta smile.

* * *

><p>Monday morning, with the two fully rested, the beach cleanup begins. Britta's ready for a day of sea air, litter, and impossible-to-open garbage bags, but Jeff is, of course, reluctant. It's no surprise to Britta that he's never done community service of <em>any<em> kind before. He dresses as casually as possible and in typical Winger fashion- jeans, some ridiculously expensive sweater, and even more ridiculously expensive shoes. He joins Britta, who's wearing a tank top and shorts over a bikini, in the living room and she laughs at him.

"You can't wear that. You look ridiculous!"

"You didn't exactly give me a dress code," Jeff snares.

"It's a beach," She's still laughing. "I thought you could figure it out from there!"

"Fine, I'll change," Jeff sighs and then turns back, shooting her the traditional Winger smirk. "You look hot, though."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever, Winger. I'll meet you outside."

He winks at her and she scoffs, pushing the door to the cottage open and stepping into the salty sea air. The group of volunteers is congregated in a moderately-sized group just a few feet down the beach, armed with garbage bags, latex gloves, and giant recycling bins. The high Britta's always gotten from helping others returns and she giddily joins the group, diving in and immediately immersing herself in the task. The tide is low today, with seaweed and shells washing up ashore as Britta snaps her gloves on and turns to find Jeff, in much more appropriate attire, waiting beside her.

"What exactly do I have to do?" He asks apprehensively, glancing around at the way-too-cheerful group of volunteers.

She hands him a trash bag and gloves. "Just pick up trash. It's really easy."

"This is ridiculous," Jeff shakes his head. "If people just threw their trash away in the first place…"

"Well that's kind of the point," Britta tells him. "People _don't_. That's why we're here."

"Fantastic," He drones sarcastically and, instead of putting gloves on, he bends over the incoming wave and fills them both with water, making two mini cow udders. Yes, Jeff Winger is a twelve-year-old at heart. Britta rolls her eyes and continues combing the beach for trash.

It turns out humanity is just as disgusting as she's always believed. She finds banana peels, orange rinds, and chip bags. She finds plastic bags, soda cans, and empty water bottles. There are dozens of cigarette butts- hundreds, even. At one point Jeff doubles over in laughter when, appallingly, Britta finds a condom. Its package is nowhere to be found and Britta can't tell if it's used or not ("Wow," Jeff smirks. "Somebody took the term 'sex-on-the-beach' a little _too_ literally!"). She is very grateful that she's wearing gloves.

Moments later, Jeff, who _isn't_ wearing gloves, leans down towards the sand to get a better look at what he's found. "This is the biggest plastic bag we've found so far. Do I get an award?"

"Of course. There's a special ceremony tonight, just for you." Britta teases and looks over at him just as he's about to grab the bag… and just as she realizes what it really is. "Wait, Jeff! Don't touch that!"

But it's too late. He's already grabbed hold of it and just as he does so, he lets out a howl of pain. Britta grimaces and says, too late, "That's not a plastic bag… It's a jellyfish."

"Thanks for the warning _after_ the fact," Jeff snarls. "Oh _fuck_, this hurts! Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_"

"Jeff, there's _kids_ around," She scolds, smiling apologetically at the parents a few feet away. She motions towards his hand. "Let me see it."

"You? Not a chance," He tells her and groans in pain. "Jesus…Why the _fuck_… Why do they look like plastic bags? I thought they were pink!"

"You've been watching too much _SpongeBob_," Britta teases and again insists to see the injury. "Would you just let me look at it? Believe it or not, this is not my first beach cleanup and it's not my first jellyfish sting."

Jeff smirks. "Oh okay, Dr. Perry. Let me just entrust you with my life. Too bad I don't-"

"Shut the fuck up and let me see your hand," Britta growls at him. "This is _serious_."

Whatever was in her tone clearly got through to him and he pulls a face as he uncurls his left hand for her to examine. He winces as she brings it closer, but says nothing. Two of the jellyfish's tentacles are still attached to the palm of his hand, but other than that it looks like any other sting- searing red and purple marks, appearing to be immensely painful. Britta knows they have to do something about it- to not only soothe the pain, but to neutralize the venom as well. But since he gave her so much attitude, she decides to toy with him a little more.

"Well, you know what you have to do, right?" She asks and he shakes his head.

"Get it amputated? Because _holy fuck it hurts!_"

"No," Her mouth twists. "You're going to have to pee on it."

Jeff gives her a look of disgust. "I have to _what?_"

"Pee on it," Britta shrugs, trying not to smirk. "It's a natural remedy. Haven't you ever watched _Friends_? Abed would be really disappointed in you right now."

"I'm not _peeing_ on my hand!" Jeff insists and again, Britta shrugs.

"Whatever. Enjoy the pain."

She turns from him, picking up her own trash bag and continuing on with the job as Jeff appears torn. He looks at his hand and stares hard, considering his options. Finally, as the pain grows _unbearable_, he looks around to make sure no one's watching, and begins removing his shorts. Britta takes notice and stops him, no longer able to control her laughter. "Wait, stop, stop! I'm just messing with you!"

He shoots her a disbelieving look. "What? Why?"

"You can't… Urine doesn't do anything to help the pain. It's just a myth," Britta laughs. "Come on, let's fix this mess."

She's leading him back to the cottage, but he's glaring at her. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

She turns back to shoot him a glance and it reads that she's _Britta_ and he's _Jeff_ and that's the kind of thing they do. They mess around, they tease, they pick on each other because it's _them_. His face changes immediately. "Well played, Perry. But this isn't over. You'll get yours, in the end."

Britta smirks. "Well, game _on_."

* * *

><p>"Ow! That water is <em>hot!<em>"

"It has to be hot to sedate the tentacles."

"Why can't you sedate _me_?"

"Oh stop whining. You're such a baby."

Britta sops up the excess water with a towel before searching the cabinets for a pair of tweezers. Jeff's grimacing and Britta rolls her eyes. Who knew he was that much of a baby when it came to pain? Successful, Britta finds a pair of tweezers which she sterilizes before turning back to Jeff, who's standing, hand over the sink, his face twisted in anguish. For a split second she feels bad for him- only a second. Because he channels his pain, then, into anger towards her and thrusts his hand back towards her. "_Today_, please!"

"Relax, Winger, I've got this under control," She tells him and gets to work peeling the tentacles off, layer by layer.

Jeff's anger dissipates and he tries not to think about the pain as he watches her work. She looks so focused, so attentive, and so very _careful_ as she uses the tweezers to peel the jellied limbs from his hand. Her eyes flick over the wounds, carefully prying them from the leftover grasp of the jellyfish as she repairs his injured hand. Jeff gets a sudden sense of nostalgia as he watches her care for him; it reminds him so much of the way she cleaned and repaired his injury during paintball the first year. To cover the awkwardness, she'd made the joke about the wounded warrior fantasy. But things are different, now. He watches her and smiles.

"God, that one was _really_ in there, but I managed to…" She glances up and notices his glance. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

Jeff just shrugs. "No reason. We're just reenacting the wounded soldier fantasy, you know."

She gives him a look as she places the removed tentacles in a bag to dispose of them. "I may have realized that. Don't move."

Rummaging around in the cabinets once more, Britta finds a tall, clear bottle and uncorks it. Jeff smirks. "Alright. _That's_ my kind of remedy."

But Britta shakes her head. "Trust me, it really isn't. This is going to hurt."

"Uh huh," He says cockily, moving his hand closer. "Hit me."

She draws in a deep breath and pours a pretty generous amount of the mysterious liquid onto Jeff's hand. At first, he doesn't react. But it doesn't take long for the liquid to kick in and soon, he is _yelling_. "God! Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck…? Oh God… _Fuck!_"

Britta shrugs. "I warned you."

"_Fuck_," He groans. "What the fuck is that?"

"Distilled acetic acid," She answers and to his confused glance, adds, "Vinegar."

"Vinegar? Why the fuck-"

"Because it kills bacteria and neutralizes the venom," She cuts him off, dabbing gently at the wound with the towel. "You going to be okay, soldier?"

Jeff's face contorts but the pain is subsiding. "I think I'll make it through."

"Good," She grins at him, filling a bowl with scalding hot water. "I wouldn't want to lose you."

Once the vinegar has stopped stinging and irritating his skin even more, Britta moves his hand into the newly-filled hot water bowl and they sit at the breakfast nook, staring at each other. Jeff glances at the water, which burns but feels good at the same time, and asks, "How long…?"

"Fifteen to twenty minutes. Just to get rid of whatever the vinegar didn't get," Britta tells him. "And then we pack it in ice."

"I'm sure the vinegar got it," He shakes his head. "How it could've missed anything is beyond me."

She laughs softly. "Yeah I guess so. I'm sorry this happened. I really didn't bring you along so you could get hurt."

Jeff waves it off with his good hand. "Don't even worry about it. It's karma for being such a douche about helping people all the time, I'm sure. Although, we can keep it between us how much I was complaining earlier."

She's immediately disagreeing, reaching for her phone. "Definitely not! I'm telling everyone!"

"Don't you dare," Jeff threatens, eyes wide, as her phone illuminates to life.

"Or what? What's going to stop me?" Britta taunts and mimics his voice as she pulls up Twitter on her phone. "'_Holy fuck_, it hurts! God, I thought jellyfish were pink! Someone sedate me!'"

Jeff lunges towards her but she leans back against her own chair, out of his reach. "Britta…"

"'God, this water is too hot,'" Britta continues, beaming as he glowers at her. "'Why did you have to use vinegar? _Fuck_, it hur-'"

"That's it!" Jeff cuts her off and before she could even finish the sentence, he's out of his seat, bowl of hot water and injured hand completely forgotten. But she's quicker and with a look of mock-fear, Britta jumps up from the table and dashes around the cottage. She's laughing and calling out behind her what she's planning on tweeting, much to his disdain. He growls and picks up speed, she shrieks and runs faster. Stubbing her toe on the coffee table in the living room, Britta curses but doesn't cease her movements, running through the circular cottage and then yanking the front door open so she's out on the patio. She doesn't have time to shut the door behind her; he's too close. Instead, he chases her around the patio, avoiding deck furniture agilely as she plans her next course of action.

The cottage is small and the outdoor patio only takes up half of the exterior, so it isn't long until she's reached a dead end. The patio door that leads to the bedroom is _so close_, but she knows she won't have time; Jeff is hot on her trail. So instead, Britta chooses to utilize the stairs down to the beach. Too bad she's _tiny_, which makes her legs shorter than his, which ultimately is her downfall. She isn't even on the second step before he grabs her, his arm wrapping around her torso as she does anything and everything to keep her phone out of his grasp. He pins her to the patio floorboard, sandy and salty, his face mere inches from hers.

"Hand over the phone and no one gets hurt."

"You were already hurt," Britta laughs. "That's what I'm _tweeting_ about!"

"Britta," Jeff warns. "Give me the phone."

"Yeah right, and let you win? I don't think so." She disagrees. "You _always_ win. It's about time that Winger luck ran out."

"First of all, the Winger luck _never_ runs out," Jeff says and Britta scoffs.

"Yeah, _that's_ why you're in community college instead of ruling the courtroom, still."

"And second," He steamrolls over her previous comment. "_Give me that damn phone!_"

"_No!_" She responds just as vehemently.

This time, however, he succeeds and wrestles the phone out of her grasp. Thankfully, he realizes, she isn't that coordinated, so she hadn't texted or tweeted anything in her escape and run around the house. He sighs gratefully just as she sits up to reclaim her phone, but he holds it out of grasp. "Absolutely not. You cannot be trusted with modern technology."

"That is not your phone," Britta glares at him. "Give it back!"

"Why? So you can get back to publically humiliating me?" He asks and she frowns. "Wouldn't be the first time, so I think I'll get a say in it, this time."

"Oh my God, if you're talking about the Tranny Dance again…"

"Obviously."

"I apologized for that!" Britta sighs. "And you didn't seem too upset when you were tonguing Annie!"

"And I apologized for _that_!" Jeff shoots back. "You're being ridiculous."

"_I'm_ being ridiculous? Says the man who just tackled me to the ground."

"Says the woman who started the chase in the first place."

Britta smiles and glances out at the sea, sighing complacently. "I'm glad you came with me. I missed this."

"Missed what?" Jeff asks, settling against the house beside her. "Missed… _us_?"

"Yeah," She says softly. "I missed _this_. Just us, arguing about stupid shit that doesn't even matter. I feel like it's been forever since we've hung out. You haven't really been around since…"

She doesn't continue, but she doesn't have to. Jeff knows she's talking about whatever it is that's going on between him and Annie. And to be honest, Jeff's not even sure what that is. He nudges her shoulder. "Well, I'm glad I came, too. It's been nice to get away from… everything."

The nagging sense in Britta's mind returns, but once again, she doesn't try too hard to pursue it. "Are you ready to talk about it yet?"

He looks over at her and shakes his head. "No."

"Okay," She sighs. "Whenever you're ready."

Jeff knows she wants to understand what happened between him and his father, but he's just not ready to open up, yet. He's not ready for Britta to know just yet, but he is ready for Britta. When she turns to him again, he leans over and kisses her boldly, and now it's over. They're done pretending. That whole no-sex-because-we're-mature-adults conversation? Bullshit, complete and utter bullshit. They tried, at least. They can't say they didn't. They've attempted being mature adults- friends who can go away together and come home with nothing between them- but let's face it- there will _never_ be "nothing" between Jeff and Britta.

They tried to change and adapt, tried to become normal human beings who were capable of handling real relationships, but in the end, it was futile. Jeff realizes, as he's removing Britta's tank top and fumbling over the ties of her bikini top, that he doesn't want to change, and no amount of pestering or arguing or _anything_ will change that. Sure, he's changed since he came to Greendale. All the women in his phone have names now and he loves his study group members. But he also loves himself and he respects himself too much to allow himself to change who he's always been.

So they make out and they sloppily undress each other and they have sex on the patio, right there in between the stairwell and the porch swing. It's hot and sweaty, eager and rough in the way they both like it, but not rushed as many of their times in the past have been, afraid someone would walk in on them and find out. This time it's just them; just Jeff, Britta, and the evening golden sun, sinking lower and lower into the ocean ahead of them. The pinks and oranges in the sky cast a summery glow on Britta's skin despite the fact that it's November and she looks like a goddess, blonde and golden and beautiful. Jeff grins at her and kisses her like she's the one, the only one, he'll ever want to kiss again.

When it's over, they're curled up together on the porch swing, wearing remnants of their clothing, but still basically exposed. They're under a blanket as the night sky descends, turning pink and then purple and then black. Glittering stars are just beginning to appear when Britta sighs and says, "That…"

"Was fucking _amazing_," Jeff finishes before she has the chance.

"Was a mistake," She says anyway and Jeff is immediately disagreeing.

"No, it wasn't," He states. "It's been too long."

Britta smiles slowly. "Okay good. I thought so too."

The moment passes and a seagull cries in the distance. Britta clears her throat and asks, "How's your hand?"

"Much better," He answers and can tell that wasn't exactly what she wanted to ask. "You really knew what you were doing."

She nods. "I try."

"Which is why, I figure it can't hurt to tell you… about my father," Jeff sighs and Britta is immediately alert.

"How did you find him?" She asks first and he exhales heavily.

"Pierce, actually," Jeff says. "He has a lot of ties and his own PI. So I found him and I contacted him and asked for a business meeting in Greendale. I didn't use my name but he agreed anyway. We met at a bar a few miles away from my apartment, because I didn't want him to know where I live."

"So I got there and waited for two hours before he finally showed up," Jeff continues. "I almost left. I figured he'd stood me up. But he finally made it there and he introduced himself, as if I wouldn't know him anywhere. So I did the same… I told him who I was and all the color drained from his face. He looked like he wanted to bolt, but he didn't."

"I finally got a chance to tell him what I've always wanted," He says quietly. "But it wasn't as satisfying as I'd hoped. And he just sat there and took it. He didn't defend himself, he didn't offer explanations, he didn't fight back. He just listened to me bitch and complain about him and all he said was, 'You have a right to feel that way, Jeffrey.' Who says that? Who just takes that kind of abuse? Who doesn't argue back?"

"I think he knew you wanted him to get mad. He knew you wanted him to defend himself so you could justify hating him even more," Britta offers even though she's sure Jeff meant those to be rhetorical questions. "I think he didn't fight back because he knew no matter what he said… It wouldn't make a difference. It wouldn't make up for the time he lost with you."

"But it made it even _worse_," Jeff says. "It just made me angrier. I mean, he finally knows how I feel about him. I _finally_ got to say everything I wanted to him, but… I wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to feel bad. And he just… doesn't. He sat there and he took it and he left before I could even get the chance to tell him I'd be twice the father he was. That someday… Someday I'm going to prove that to him."

"You will. I believe in you," Britta smiles and Jeff sighs. "Now… Tell me what you said to him. It's good to get it all out in the open."

Reluctantly, Jeff tells her about his early childhood, his parents' divorce, and the last time he ever saw his father. He lets the insults and the defamation roll off his tongue, while Britta listens attentively, nodding here and there, her face completely non-judgmental. If Jeff didn't think Britta would be a good therapist before, he _certainly_ does now. She listens as he goes on and on about the meeting, offers suggestions when he needs them, and support when he does not. It's just them and he's grateful it's just them; there's a silent confidentiality in the salty sea air as he continues to talk, feeling better and better by the minute.

Above them is only sky; below them the midnight water laps against the surface, bringing in the tide and a sense of closure for Jeff Winger.

* * *

><p><strong>Guys, I don't know what's up with me lately, but I have been <em>on fire<em> with these story ideas haha. I still have another one in mind. Thanks for reading and thanks (in advance!) for reviewing!**


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